


Chasing Dragons

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-30 14:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10878735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: Charlie Weasley gets the chance of a lifetime.





	1. Chasing Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie Weasley gets the chance of a lifetime.

A Hufflepuff might've saved Charlie and given him an out by mistake. Charlie didn't know this for sure, but he really wanted to take this chance. It was a shot in the dark, and there was always the looming question of money. How much did it cost? What were they talking about here? He'd already put this idea to his dad, and naturally, it dwindled down to this. 

At five-thirty on a Saturday morning, Charlie decided it make his move. What was the worse that could happen? A simple no wouldn't deter him because he'd try and try again. He understood where his father came from; there was only so much money with seven kids. Everyone needed a piece of the pie, as Arthur said, and Charlie's mother was dead set against him leaving school early without completing his magical education. After leaving the Gryffindor Common Room, he waved to the Fat Lady and continued on his way to the Hogwarts kitchens. 

Which one was the right barrel? Charlie was a popular bloke, but his best mate was a pudgy badger. The pieces kind of fell into place. In their second year, Rolf Scamander, bespectacled badger, had a soft spot after Charlie took one for the team and stood in for Rolf on a detention with McGonagall. Scamander had smuggled a baby something or other into the castle after nipping off to spy on a Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Students didn't take that subject until third year, but Scamander got his hands on something cuddly.

Charlie remembered the part about two from the bottom. As he veered off to the right side of the kitchens corridor, he saw a small group of house-elves. They were obviously prepping breakfast. It really didn't matter that the students slept in on the weekends, for there was always lots to do. One house-elf, the smallest one, reached up and scratched a pear. It giggled and the entrance opened. Storing this usual bit of information away for later, Charlie went to go consult the puzzle. Rolf Scamander had told him the trick in a hurry after dinner in the Great Hall last night. It was a rushed hurry, though, so Charlie feared he missed stuff.

"Two and two," muttered Charlie, pacing in front of the barrels. 

If he waited for a Hufflepuff student, he'd have to break his word with Rolf on super secret stash stuff. Who ratted out their best chubby mate? If Percy hadn't been going on and on about how students belonged in their own common rooms, Charlie might not have messed this up. He'd chosen the wrong barrel before. As an unforeseen consequence, the barrels had opened and cascaded him with vinegar. Charlie knew if he stood here long enough, he'd get caught by Filch or a house-elf. (Really, the house-elf would offer him food, which probably wouldn't be so bad. A man deserved a second breakfast.) Nymphadora Tonks had promised not to let Charlie forget what she'd deemed as the "Vinegar Vendetta" until his dying day. 

He chose the second row and picked a random one in the middle. Closing his eyes, he tapped the barrel nervously. If he tapped too slowly to the rhythm of the name of Helga Hufflepuff, he'd still be wrong, and this was just as bad as getting the wrong answer. The barrel opened! Charlie heaved his body into the barrel shoot and landed on his feet into a cozy, honey-colored common room. There were splashes of black here and there in the circular room. 

"Scamander? Psst, Scamander." 

The common room was deader than dead. Had Rolf meant six-thirty instead of five-thirty, or had he, Rolf, simply forgotten? If the latter were the case, Rolf Scamander had totally started off the weekend on a bad foot. Charlie waited three minutes. A pudgy boy bumped into him as he slid down the barrel. 

Rolf carried a stash and adjusted his spectacles. "Hungry?" 

"Yeah." Charlie shook his head, wondering how the pudgy, shy kid got in lucky with the house-elves. He helped Rolf dump the lot in a cozy leather chair between them near the fire. Actually, over the years, thanks to trips with his grandfather, Rolf Scamander had cut off a lot of his fat. A house-elf bustled over and built a fire. She gave them a curious look and kept her mouth shut as she continued her work. Charlie helped himself to a fried egg sandwich. "Where's your grandfather? Going anywhere over Christmas?" 

"Oh, he's here. And, no, we’re staying in New York.” Rolf chose a pastry. Charlie jumped to his feet, excited, but Rolf looked mournfully at his loot. He wolfed down a fried egg sandwich, too. "We're eating here!" 

Charlie sat back down. He doubted it was very hard to steal from the kitchen house-elves, though he didn't know this for certain. Rolf went to town, which Charlie found amusing, but they both stopped dead when they heard a crash. Next moment, a thin girl with violet hair came downstairs with a curly-haired boy. Charlie and Rolf grabbed a crocheted yellow and black blanket and tucked it around the food. 

Charlie played it cool, running a hand through his hair. "What're you doing here?" 

"Yeah, yeah," stammered Rolf, nibbling on another toasted sandwich. 

"I live here. What're you doing here?" Tonks sat on a honey-colored polished table and pointed at the blanket. "That's got holes in it, geniuses. You like that, Scamander?" 

Rolf nodded, shrugging as he licked mayonnaise and ketchup off his finger. Donaghan Tremlett snorted and pulled off the blanket. Charlie, Rolf, Donaghan, and Tonks had been together since their early years at Hogwarts. Rolf, usually the smart one, rolled over like a puppy whenever he got caught, yet he'd managed to become Head Boy this year. Donaghan ragged him about this plenty and often. 

"We're visiting my grandpa," said Rolf proudly. He conjured a pillowcase and stowed some of the food away fir safekeeping. The house-elf left before he stashed it behind a spotted cactus. It was a week until Christmas holidays, and today was a Honeydukes visit. "Wanna come?" 

"Hold it, Scamander," said Donaghan, Summoning the pillowcase from its hiding spot and catching it in his hand. Tonks grinned and covered herself with the blanket when she stole the seat. Donaghan waved the loot in his face. "You're Head Boy. What're you doin'?" 

"Fish gotta swim, and man's gotta eat," said Rolf, digging into the stash and wrapping a large blueberry muffin in a napkin. He shrugged, sounding a little dejected as he headed towards the Hufflepuff entrance. He wrapped an old Hufflepuff scarf around his neck. He blushed, falling back on his usual meekness. "What? It's for Grandpa. And I was hungry." 

"Gotta keep that figure, Rolf?" Tonks laughed when Rolf, after stowing the blueberry muffin away in his robes, patted his belly. "See you later." 

"Bye," said Donaghan. 

On second thought, he waved frantically at Rolf, who had heaved himself down into the barrel. Realizing he'd messed his chance, he begged Charlie to wait a moment and disappeared into his dormitory. When he came back down, he almost tripped over his blue dressing gown and handed Charlie his battered copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. Breathless, he asked Charlie to get an autograph from Newt Scamander, and grinning from ear to ear, Charlie showed him his copy of the textbook, too. 

"Cool." Donaghan collapsed into Rolf's abandoned chair. 

Tonks rolled her eyes at the ceiling. "Nerds. The lot of you. Why do I do this to myself?" 

"Hey, you don't know what you're talking about." Donaghan tore an elastic band off his wrist and pulled his hair back into a ponytail. He conjured his acoustic guitar and ignored Tonks's jab about a closeted bookworm/ rockstar dream thing being quite the conundrum. 

"Scamander's gone, Charlie. Glad to see you didn't get a vinegar shower." Tonks declined an offer when Charlie waved his copy and gave her one last chance. She said no. 

Charlie left. He ran. When he got onto the grounds, he caught up with Rolf and they headed off towards the greenhouses and veered the other way. The Care of Magical Creatures classroom wasn't far from Hagrid's Hut, but there was nobody there. Rolf, walking purposefully ahead of him, strode into the Forbidden Forest. Surprised and amazed at Rolf Scamander's bravery or stupidity, Charlie quickened his pace. The sun wasn't all the way up yet was snowing lightly on the grounds. 

They stopped in a clearance with nothing there. Professor Dumbledore stood chatting with a plump old man dressed in a peacock blue overcoat and trousers. White-haired with slower reflexes than Charlie guessed he'd had in his heyday, Newt Scamander grunted when Rolf bear hugged him from behind after helping the old man to his feet. 

"Grandpa!" Rolf offered him the blueberry muffin before Newt had a chance to tell him off. 

"Thief. No, no, I'll still take that, thank you." Newt plucked it out of his reach. He smiled when Professor Dumbledore, whistling, strode back and forth in his purple robes and pretended not to see anything. Newt ate the muffin and dropped a chunk of it on the floor. An invisible creature ate it. Newt grabbed a pail and whistled, beckoning the creature over to a carcass. As the carcass was almost stripped to its bare bones, he held a chunk of raw meat aloft. "Come on." 

Charlie, perplexed, stood back and danced on the spot. "What is it?" 

"Interested in creatures, are you? Give us a hand." 

The old man offered him the pail with a bruised hand. Newt tested him and observed whatever wasn't there; a wrapped bandage where the thing's leg would've been appeared to levitate. Newt gathered his dressings and disposed of them carefully with a casual wave of his wand after he gathered the contents in a drop cloth. 

Charlie gaped at him. "Really?" 

"As my wife says, early worm gets the bird." Newt shrugged his comment off when Dumbledore chuckled, mentioning quietly the Muggle saying went the other way around. Newt didn't appear to be bothered by it. Newt clapped Charlie on the shoulder before he rested on a stump. He offered his hand. "Really, really. Newt Scamander. And you are?" 

Charlie giggled at Rolf and felt like pinching himself. 

"Grandpa, this is Charlie. Charlie Weasley. The one who applied for the Release Program in Deva with me?" Rolf made the introduction, pausing when Newt cocked his head towards Professor Dumbledore, studying him. “The Heartstrings Sanctuary?" 

"Ah, speaking of which, Dumbledore, I've got a bone to pick with you." Newt told Charlie to not stand around and lallygag all day because the wounded thestral needed nourishment. The invisibility made sense. Newt jabbed a finger in Rolf's direction. "Whilst I appreciate you making him into Head Boy, I made this boy from scratch. Why is he not in the program?" 

Rolf helped Charlie feed the thestral. Charlie could tell by the way Rolf treaded, he could see the winged skeletal horse, and Charlie mirrored the way Rolf tossed the strips in the air. It got devoured piece by piece. 

"It's all right, Grandpa," said Rolf. 

"No, it's not! It's not, Newton. A year is a year, and you're bored. Twelve O.W.L.'s!" He jabbed a finger at his grandson. He turned his head towards Dumbledore. When he asked Charlie if he got in, Charlie said yes, he was on the waiting list, but his parents couldn't afford it. Newt, whether he meant anything by it or not, waved his hand at Charlie impatiently. "Professor Dumbledore, my grandson knows more than Kettleburn. You know this!" 

"Newt, this isn't my call," said Professor Dumbledore. He ignored Mr. Scamander when he, Newt, told Rolf to go feed the Bowtruckles. As Professor Kettleburn had lost an arm, Newt was standing in as Care of Magical Creatures teacher for at least the spring term. 

Newt wiped his hands on a handkerchief. “Yeah. You’re missing out, Mr. Weasley.” 

"Really? Damn it." Charlie grumbled and stamped his feet. He cast an apologetic look at Professor Dumbledore and mumbled wt the ground. "Sorry, Professor." 

"Not at all, Charlie. I'd be disappointed, too. Newt, the council has until December fifteenth to make a final decision. If it doesn't work out," said Dumbledore, picking up the now empty pail and offering it to Newt. Newt took Hagrid, the groundskeeper, as help, but he wanted his answer. The right one. Dumbledore watched Newt feed the unicorns. Unicorns usually hated males, but they, like a lot of creatures, were trusting of Rolf’s grandfather. "Newt, there are people from around the world who apply for those slots. Do you know how many slots are open?" 

"Three for Britain," grunted Newt. He glared at Charlie and examined a pair of pregnant unicorns as he petted them. They had five days to make final call. Newt Scamander had worked with the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau, so he knew the skinny behind any sanctuary news before if reached most people's ears. Dumbledore nodded. "He deserves this! It isn't like he's fooling around like Frank, and it's not the Scamander name. Have you sat down with him? Who is his Head of House?" 

"Professor Sprout." Rolf asked him to drop it. 

"Yes, Newton, I know how brilliant he is. I taught his grandfather, did I not?" Professor Dumbledore, spoke now with a bite of impatience, though he remained calm. Hours passed in the Forbidden Forest. When they headed back up towards the castle for breakfast, the Professor and Newt seemed on better speaking terms. 

Charlie went off to the Gryffindor table, and Rolf 9ōyheaded towards the Hufflepuffs. When the owl post arrived, Professor Dumbledore bent his ear towards Professor McGonagall and waved Newt, who sat at the far end of the table, over. When breakfast ended, Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout followed Newt and Professor Dumbledore into Professor McGonagall's office after she unlocked the office door with a tap of her wand. It was a tight fit, but Charlie didn’t mind it and squeezed Rolf's hand. 

"No matter how this ends, you have two applications in for an exchange program with Catelbruxo and Ilvermorny, Mr. Scamander," said Professor Sprout. "What did we talk about yesterday?" 

"I don't know." Rolf admitted he stole food from the kitchens, and Charlie rolled his eyes. Dumbledore chuckled. 

"This isn't the end of the world," said Professor McGonagall, supplying what she thought was the same answer because she'd told Charlie the same thing. Professor Sprout nodded. 

"Mr. Scamander?" Charlie knew he should've called him Professor Scamander, and he apologized when Professor McGonagall corrected him. He pressed on when Newt turned towards him with interest. "How many dragon reservations are there?" 

The sides of Newt's mouth twitched. "You tell me. How many breeds of pure-bred dragons are there in the world? Not you, Rolf." 

Charlie smirked when Rolf, whose hand had shot straight up in the air, acted put out and frowned at his grandfather. Charlie stopped, taking a minute to frown as he counted on his fingers. "Nine. No, the Black. Ten known breeds. There are ten reservations?" 

It sounded like Charlie was asking him not telling him, and Charlie wanted to kick himself for this. Panicked, he shouted out an answer."Eight? Yeah, the one in Japan got shut down because of the Itsuki Kobayashi Incident in Japan in 1945. Eight?" 

Newt appraised Professor McGonagall, impressed. "He knows about Itsuki. That's good. And you don’t … obviously.” He roared with laughter at the blank expressions on both Professors McGonagall's and Sprout's faces as they exchanged a look. He waited a moment and said, "Human barbecue. Basically. Why you would choose to crossbreed a Peruvian Vipertooth with a Chinese Fireball? The hell if I know. By the way, Charlie, you're wrong. Trick question. Saint Petersburg merged with Shanghai last night. Or this morning. At midnight." 

"Oh. Okay. Seven.” Charlie frowned, mentally crossing Saint Petersburg off the list. 

"I don't imagine either of you wants to be held in suspense any longer," said Dumbledore, shuffling two open thick envelopes. Charlie imagined both an acceptance and a rejection carried the same weight. He hesitated, smiling at the boys. He picked one and shook the paper. "Mr. Charles Weasley, we invite you to Deva, Romania on the third of January, Wei Yang." 

He handed Charlie the correspondence and shook his hand in congratulations before he opened Rolf's. Dumbledore paused, smiling again, glancing at Newt. 

"What?" Rolf and Newt demanded. 

Dumbledore held up two fingers, separating two documents. "Two offers for you, Mr. Rolf Scamander." 

At this point, Charlie and Rolf completely forgot themselves. They exhaled and hugged each other, jumping around like little girls. Professor McGonagall's eyebrows thinned into a severe line, for she'd probably never allowed this raucous in her office. Professor Sprout shook Newt's hand. When they finally settled down, Dumbledore continued. There was an offer from both Brazil and Romania. 

Shocked and speechless, Rolf addressed Charlie before his grandfather. The students outside headed towards Hogsmeade. Professor McGonagall hugged Charlie, and to Rolf's surprise, hugged him, too. Charlie shrugged. What did he need to say? 

Professor Sprout patted Rolf on the cheek before she followed Professor McGonagall outside to join the queue off to Hogsmeade. "See? Nothing changed at all. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Rolf to her back when he finally found his voice and sat in a chair conjured by Dumbledore. "What ... what do I do?" 

"Are you asking what would I do?" Dumbledore surveyed Rolf over his half-moon spectacles as he sat behind Professor McGonagall's desk. Newt took the contracts from his grandson. Dumbledore answered when Rolf nodded. "You have twenty-four days to accept an offer. The one from Deva. Do you speak Portuguese?" 

Charlie gawked as Rolf and Dumbledore had a private conversation in a tongue he didn't recognize. Professor Dumbledore, still smiling, nodded at Newt. Rolf, as always, did as he was he was asked. The two in the private conversation shared a laugh. 

"What? Did you just tell a joke?" Charlie asked Professor Dumbledore; the professor nodded. "Cool. Look, Scamander, no. No." 

Rolf frowned when Newt said Brazil, for Castelbruxo focused on Herbology and Magizoology; he needed the edge and the focus. Chances were, Charlie and Rolf would break ties after they left school and went their separate ways anyway. For the first time, Charlie found Newt Scamander rubbed him the wrong way. Sure, part of this was true, but Charlie was sixteen, almost seventeen in two days, so he was a legal adult and could leave school. Technically, according to his dad, Charlie wasn't an adult until he left school, and he'd be missing out on the last eighteen months of his magical education. 

"Scamander, no." Charlie glared at Newt and surveyed Rolf. Newt interrupted him, which really annoyed him. Charlie turned on the old man, annoyed, and got to his feet. Newt gave a defense, a weak one in Charlie's opinion, and argued that magizoology was the main focus. He got to his feet, leaving the textbooks with Rolf. "I know how great he is. He's my best friend." 

"I understand," said Newt. 

"No, you don't. I need ... I need a minute." Charlie handed the document back to Professor Dumbledore. "Does this have to be decided today? Signed and everything?" 

"Not today. They want an answer by the thirtieth." Professor Dumbledore offered a hand to Rolf. "Walk with me." 

Newt made to follow them. 

"Not you. He's not you." Charlie nodded to Newt and placed a hand on Rolf's shoulder. "It's whatever. But you have to make this call. Newt Scamander's awesome... but you're not Newt Scamander...you carry the name. You're Newt Scamander. You got me?"

Newt Scamander, the elder, bowed out of the office.

Dumbledore beamed at Charlie and wished him a nice afternoon. Charlie left. After grabbing his things in his dormitory and went to join the others in Hogsmeade. He didn't want to leave his best friend, yet he wanted to leave his childhood behind. Charlie couldn't make Rolf's decision because it would be like putting a quill in a paralyzed man's hand and forging his signature as he dragged it along the parchment. Besides Charlie had his own problems to worry about. With Molly Weasley being at the top of the to-do list, he had a lot to tackle. 

He signed his life away the following Monday on his seventeenth birthday. Rolf, sitting beside him in Dumbledore's office, did the same. They signed so much Charlie's hand crammed. Professor McGonagall made him sit through the tests until his last day. This probably had more to do with him leaving her hanging with the Quidditch team in mid-season than anything else. He finished last the Transfiguration test on written exam and lingered purposely and deliberately after the dinner bell rang and the students rushed into the Great Hall.

"If you're going to read over my shoulder, there's really no point," she said, sitting at the teacher's desk at the front of the classroom. 

Charlie rubbed his hands together and got up from his desk. "There's really no point. The Pudgy Badger and I couldn't have been, I dunno, exempt, from exams? We could have saved you time." 

"Pudgy Badger?" McGonagall dipped her quill in her ink and cast a Color Changing Charm. Charlie suspected, though he'd never seen her do this before, she went over the work twice. She paused. "If I were you, and I'm not, but if I were you, I would take any and all protection potions St. Mungo's offered me before heading abroad. And when I got wherever I was going, I would fight not to get trapped in the newness of it all." 

"Meaning?" Charlie flipped over the heavy hourglass on her desk and flicked the trinket with his finger. The activated sands trickled slowly. 

McGonagall finished grading the essay and flipped it over. After flashing his grade, an Acceptable, an A, She turned the document back over, tensed, and sat up straighter. "I knew last year during our career advisement session. What did I tell you?" 

Charlie hesitated, thinking this was when she had submitted the application for the Dragon Research Reservation Program. She'd done so on his behalf, and although he didn't know who made this call, for him it had been submitted on his behalf, it seemed obvious now. Charlie muttered that he didn't know how his parents were going to afford this. She smiled, a rare gesture from here and jotted down two names, practically inviting him to read over her shoulder. Charlie, speechless recognized the first name with a slight shock, although the other man remained a mystery. 

He read off the names of his benefactors. "Newton "Newt" Scamander and Elphinstone Urquart. I can’t.”

“You will,” she said with an air of finality. 

McGonagall didn't say much, except that these men were practically strangers who happened upon a chance meeting in the Three Broomsticks last Hogsmeade visit. Sometimes men had too much gold and idle hands, and both of them needed to throw some Galleons at a cause because they felt charitable at Christmastime. For her part. Professor McGonagall had merely given a nudge in the right direction. 

"You were the one who got away," she said softly. "Remember who you are."

Next moment, Professor McGonagall struggled with a desk drawer. Annoyed, she pounded ber fist on the polished surface, and the drawer popped open. She glared sharply at Charlie, as if daring him to reveal her little secret, and he answered with a half shrug. She handed him two battered copies of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. When he opened his, a small key fell out and he pocketed it. Mr. Scamander had written some message on the back of the "About the Author" page. He placed Donaghan's in his schoolbag. Unable to help himself as he read the message and strode out of the Transfiguration classroom, he grinned, and he could've sworn he got one in return from his favorite teacher. 

 

Things didn't go over so smoothly at the Burrow on Christmas Day when Charlie finally decided to break the news to the family. Charlie's dad was all for it, telling his wife this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Molly said no, a hard no, and then she caught steam and there was no stopping her. Charlie insisted he was leaving, and he didn't care what she said. Furious, he went up to his bedroom, tossed his rucksack out of the window, and took the leap of foolish faith. A crack a second later told him this was really, really stupid. 

He'd failed his Apparition test the last time around, and his dad was taking him to retest tomorrow morning. Getting slowly to his feet, cursing the injured one, he jumped when Bill Apparated at his side. 

"You're stupid," said Bill, acting as a crutch for his brother and dumping him at a wooden table. Bill offered to take Charlie for his Apparition retest. He suggested conjuring a ladder or some apparatus next time. Bill knelt, checked out the damage, and said Charlie shattered it. Congratulating Charlie on a job well done, Bill conjured a tiny bottle of knockoff Skele-Gro; it zoomed into his hand from the open kitchen window. A large spoon raced alongside it. After filling the spoon, guessing that was enough, he handed the spoon to Charlie. "If I ever have to do this again you're not going to be happy." 

Charlie felt ill the moment the he put the solution in his mouth. 

"Swallow, Charlie Boy," said Bill patiently, kneeling on the dewey grass. He rolled his eyes and Charlie gulped. Sharp pain, immense pain shot through his leg. Bill recapped the solution and slipped it into his robes. Two years older than his brother, Bill, or Old Bill, was his closest mate. Closer than Scamander. As Charlie screamed, Bill squeezed his hand and struck up a conversation; he said he doubted Charlie broke every bone. "Fun fact: Including the ankle, there are twenty-six bones and thirty-three joints in the human foot. Thirty-three's your lucky number." 

"I hate you," hissed Charlie through gritted teeth. "You're annoying." 

"And you're ugly. On the plus side?" Bill shifted his weight and checked his watch. He waved at either Fred or George when he came outside. "I can fix my problem."

Charlie laughed though his hurt, and his foot got back to normal in about an hour. If the bones had indeed gone missing, especially the bones in his leg, this would've taken all day. They talked about this and that. Since Bill had gone off to Egypt, they didn't see each other anymore, though Bill had decided to come this Christmas to see Charlie off. They played rounds of Exploding Snap and raided the pantry for bottles of Butterbeer and Christmas biscuits. Really, Bill did all the sneaky sneak because Charlie had parked his butt. 

"Think Mum will realize these are gone?" Charlie ducked when their playing card house exploded. Bill pushed away from the table. 

"Blame Percy," suggested Bill lazily, making quick work of the Muggle fifty-two card pickup as the deck reformed itself. He amended this, shuffling the deck, saying it wouldn't work. "Fred and George."

"Miss you, Old Bill," said Charlie. 

"Same here, Charlie Boy. Hey, maybe we should tradeoff Christmases in future, if we manage to get off. One year in Egypt, one year in Romania. Never been there. Switch it up and holiday in, like, Prague." 

They clinked bottles and sealed the deal. They turned their heads when they heard a faint pop. Rolf Scamander had appeared. The screaming inside the Burrow had stopped, and Arthur had retreated, probably to escape off to his shed. 

Arthur went to meet Rolf at the Apparition point and came back into the garden, laughing. Rolf, dressed on honey-colored robes and his tattered Hufflepuff scarf, joined them at the table. Arthur sat down, too, playing with what Rolf called a torch. It needed batteries. Night started to fall. 

"And a plug?" asked Arthur enthusiastically. Arthur collected plugs. 

"No, no," said Rolf, muttering this wouldn't work with all the magical interference in the air anyway. He reached in his pocket and handed Arthur a small wrapped parcel; he shredded the paper like an eager little boy on Christmas. Rolf, smiling patiently, after making sure they were the correct size, opened them and inserted some of them into the torch. He switched it on, saying he had No-Maj friends across the pond in New York. No beam came from the torch, though Rolf switched it off and slapped it into Arthur's hand. "Electricity." 

"Eckeltricity," said Arthur, nodding. He turned on the switch, uncertain, and wandered around like a Boy Scout. 

Rolf called him back, a bemused expression on his face, and gave him a book of matches and a parcel of rubber ducks. Arthur, beside himself, hugged Rolf and surrendered the torch as he juggled the ducks. Charlie, smartly, pocketed the matchbook after he unearthed it from underneath the wrapping paper. 

"Scamander wants Dad to blow himself up," said Bill. He conjured candlesticks and lit the candles with his wand. 

"Oh, oh, yeah, I didn't think of that," said Rolf, scratching his chin. He made to get up, but Charlie clicked his tongue and Bill grabbed him by his robes, forcing him down. They had a hankering for home entertainment. Rolf sat back and rested his legs on the bench. “Your dad is the best person to shop for. I think he needs a stapler.” 

This meant absolutely nothing to Bill and Charlie. “A what?” 

“A stapler. You know, it hooks pages of a document together?” Rolf mimed holding up a stack of papers and sighed when nothing registered on their faces. “Never mind. It’s nothing.” 

“Scamander,” said Charlie, tapping his foot and staring at him as if he saw him clearly for the first time. “You aren't wearing any glasses. What is this witchcraft?” 

“Oh, contact lenses.” After squinting painfully for a few moments, or at least it looked like it hurt as he held his eyelids, he relaxed his eye. Rolf popped a folded disc onto his finger and showed it to them. “My grandmother bought them for me. Of course, this is the first day, and I probably can't put this back in without screaming bloody murder. I still have the glasses; a lot of people still prefer glasses.” 

He popped it back in and blinked a lot. No screaming was included in the making of this demonstration, and Arthur, checking the end of this show, actually clapped. Rolf mentioned it was easier doing this with a mirror. His grandmother suggested these because they might be easier to handle whilst abroad because Rolf wasn't exactly gentle with his possessions. 

“So, where did you choose to go?” Charlie cut through the fat ands got down to the point. He, Charlie, didn't have to work in Romania forever, yet he’d signed on for seven years. Unless something went seriously wrong or he didn't fit in, he’d been offered the cream of the crop because Romania only took the best of the best. 

“Well, I talked it through with Professor Dumbledore.” Rolf mirrored Charlie’s nod because they both knew he knew this already. “And by the way, my grandfather isn’t angry with you. He invited you for Christmas dinner. What we got were offers, so Professor Dumbledore drafted a counter offer with my grandfather, If they take me on, I’m on call with Brazil. I signed with Romania.” 

“Yes!” Charlie pounded the table with his fist and turned to his father. He’d never been further than Scotland. Rolf said he had pushed his starting date back until mid-February and would be hiding out in New York with his grandmother and great-aunt as they awaited an answer until the end of the Christmas holidays; both Brazil and Romania had a month to respond. “What if it doesn’t work out?” 

“He goes back to school, Charlie,” said Arthur. Rolf was still sixteen. “He probably has to sign with his grandfather if he's underage. Do you want to go visit Mr. Scamander?” 

“May I?” Charlie asked eagerly. 

“Charlie, next month, you’re on your own.” Arthur smiled at him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Why in the world are you asking me for permission? Your mother’s going to say no because that’s how she is, but she’ll get over it. She wouldn't be Mum without being Mum.” 

Charlie jabbed a finger at Bill. “He’s in Egypt.” 

“You don’t think Mum told me not to go? Ha.” Bill shrugged, agreeing with their dad on this one. 

“You know what I want? Mind you, you’re grown.” Arthur held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, telling his sons to take this with a grain of salt. He rather considered Rolf Scamander as a strange adopted son, so this went for him, too. They waited as Arthur sandwiched himself between Bill and Charlie and draped an arm over both their shoulders. “I want you to see the world, whatever your world holds for you, and I wish you to be a part of it.” 

Charlie, confused, felt as though his head spun around, for he’d expected a completely different answer coming from his father. Arthur found pleasure in working in his broomstick cupboard office and tinkering with Muggle artifacts. 

Arthur winked at Charlie. “You want to go chasing dragons? You chase dragons.” 

“Thanks, Dad.” Charlie got to his feet. His father, still smiling, gathered his rubber ducks and headed back towards the Burrow, whistling contentedly to himself. Charlie told Bill they were lucky blokes to have a dad like that man. Bill, still wondering how Charlie had missed the legendary row from a couple years ago told him not to change the subject. When Fred or George headed back inside with loot on a dirty rucksack, Charlie Disapprated with Rolf by Side-Along Apparition and headed to New York. 

 

Charlie had never really Apparated long distance, and he had certainly never tried transcontinental Apparition. It felt as though he’d been squeezed through a longer tube and held his breath for the length of a minute. Suddenly, it was lighter outside, early afternoon, perhaps, and they’d appeared on a side street. 

“What time is it?” Charlie straightened his Muggle clothes and pretended as though he did this all the time. It didn't exactly play out the way he wanted. 

“One.” Rolf checked his wristwatch and gripped his arm. They stopped outside of the third brownstone to the left. So, thought Charlie as he did some quick adjusting, London stayed five hours ahead of New York time. When Charlie asked how he’d calculated this so quickly, Rolf flashed his expensive watch. “A Cartier. It’s a world clock, so it changes time automatically. I got for my birthday.” 

“Your birthday’s on Christmas Eve!” Charlie snapped his fingers because he couldn't believe he’d forgotten this. He cast a Currency Charm on his pocket money pouch. Charlie was a mere twelve days and twelve hours older than Rolf. Telling him to wait, Charlie dashed across the street and invaded the small town ice cream parlor, a hidden joy in New York City. There was nobody else in the queue. “Hello.” 

“Hi,” said the shopkeeper, a kindly woman. “What can I get you?” 

“Ummm.” Charlie consulted a list; there were lots and lots of choices. He went with mint chocolate chip because this was one of Rolf’s favorites. He added dark chocolate covered cherries out of mere curiosity. He pointed at the vanilla bean honeycomb. “Is that good?” 

“One of my favorites,” said the shopkeeper. She gathered containers. “Half-gallons?” 

“Yes. please,” said Charlie, not really listening to her. He paid with Muggle money and wished her a Merry Christmas. He met Rolf outside the brownstone. Rolf’s friendly grandmother, Tina, answered the door. She was a grey-haired thin woman who wore fashionable clothes. Charlie raised his loot. “Ice cream!” 

“A sugar coma sounds nice,” she said, ignoring Rolf, who went red and said it was too much. She said they had leftovers from yesterday. Tina cast a Freezing Charm on the cartons and stowed them away. “Rolf, let him spoil you on your birthday.” 

“It’s not my birthday,” mumbled Rolf. 

“Shut up, Scamander.” Charlie sat down at the table and marveled as a strange casserole with green beans topped with fried onions cooked itself in midair and landed neatly on a heating pad in the center of the table. A turkey and a small honey-baked ham sliced themselves with carving knives. “Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Scamander?” 

Tina stopped whipping the mash potatoes by hand and tasted them for salt. Apparently, she thought they needed it because the salt shaker levitated itself and tipped itself over. She licked a little off her finger and pointed her wand at the bowl; it landed neatly beside the roasted veggies and casserole dish. The Scamanders alternated between American and English Christmases, although they spent most of them in Dorset. 

“No, thank you. Ever had green bean casserole?” Tina conjured serving spoons and directed them to their dishes as she held her wand aloft like a baton. Charlie shook his head. Tina bustled over to the staircase and called for her husband. She tipped some casserole onto a plate and told the boys to tuck in. Tina handed the plate to Charlie and winked at him before she sat dawn. “You’re missing out.” 

“It’s really good,” said Rolf. He shrugged off Charlie’s comment about him being a garbage disposal. He shoveled in a few mouthfuls and finally went to drag his grandfather out of his research cave. “We are off on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, remember? Sit and stay.” 

Tina snorted, sticking her tongue out at Newt. 

“Why Christmas Eve?” Newt adjusted his spectacles on his nose and fixed his plate. Charlie knew he merely played along. Next to his wife, Newt’s grandson was probably his favorite person. Rolf grumbled that he was the favorite grandson. “Helps when you’re the only one.” 

“Newt,” chided Tina. She rolled her eyes when both Rolf and Newt looked up. Charlie chuckled, thinking this likely got old quick in the household. She pointed her fork at her husband. “That one. That was rude, Newt.” 

“No, no. I wasn’t being rude, Tina, I stated a fact. He’s laughing … they’re laughing.” Newt nodded at the boys. He turned to Charlie. “If Arthur Weasley’s adopted my grandson as one of his sons, does this mean you’re my grandson? How many of you are there?” 

“Seven.” Charlie set down his fork and told Tina he liked the green bean casserole. “One girl. And, no, I don't think that’s how this works. But you can. I mean …you don’t have to. This place is really cool.” 

Newt helped himself to a roll and muttered soundlessly, “You don’t have to …” 

“It was my sister’s,” said Tina. She amended this statement when Newt held up three fingers; Charlie took this to mean Tina’s sister had been married three times, and Newt pointed it out at every opportunity. “Well, it was after the divorce. The second divorce. Anyway, it’s mine. All right. That’s definitely rude, Newton. The ice you’re standing on? Really thin.” 

After dinner, Charlie offered to help her clean up, but Tina made quick work of the mess with some household spells. Newt disappeared in his research cave again and came out with four wrapped gifts. 

“He gets to open one gift on Christmas Eve,” explained Tina, dipping into the kitchen for a minute and adding a parcel. “That’s from your father.” “Actually from my father or you’re telling me it’s from my father?” Rolf ducked too slowly and groaned when Tina whacked him in the back of the head for his cheek. Newt smiled. Tina watched as Rolf unwrapped an empty photograph album. He set it aside. Rolf’s father, for better or worse, had been absent throughout his life. “That’s fitting. Grandma, ouch!” 

Tina smacked him again with one of their gifts before handing it over. Newt encouraged Rolf’s assessment by shaking his hand, but he let go of Rolf when Tina called them birds of a feather and went away. Rolf got a Quick Quotes Quill, a set of journals, a deck of self-shuffling playing cards, and a set of miniature dragon figures that acted very lifelike. 

“Oooh, cool.” Charlie pulled his hand away only when the Peruvian Vipertooth got a taste for his flesh. 

If Rolf Scamander ever denied he was this closeted nerd, these gifts proved him dead wrong. If nothing else, Nymphadora Tonks would’ve had loads to say about the journals alone. Rolf had travelled with his grandfather all around the world since he could walk, so he was truly better of without his deadbeat dad. Newt might be strange and have an unnatural love for creatures and beasts, but nothing, absolutely nothing, came between him and his grandson. 

Newt disappeared into his cave, which Charlie later found out was just a spare bedroom and came back with two photographs. One was of Newt holding Rolf at St. Mungo’s and the other one showed a younger Newt. still lithe, walking with a toddler between his legs with a rhinoceros -like creature, probably a Erumpent, in the background. In this photograph, after walking the length of a few shaky steps with a toddler, Newt scooped Rolf up, tossed him in the air, and caught him. 

Rolf glared at Charlie, daring him to laugh. Charlie, rather touch, swallowed a lump in his throat. Newt, apparently not noticing the exchange as he hummed to himself, duplicated the photographs with a Germinio Charm, and slipped two of them into the photo album. 

“Newton Artemis Fido Rolf Scamander, born 25 December 1972, St. Mungo’s, London,” said Charlie, flipping over the first photograph with the protective sleeve and reading the inscription aloud. This photograph was taken several weeks later after he was weaned off a drug addiction. Charlie hadn’t known much about Rolf’s mother, although he understood the Scamanders saved him from a bleak life. 

“No matter what they tell you or whatever your feet take you, you are mine. You’re mine.” Newt walked over and embraced his grandson. Rolf nodded, muttering he had something in his eye. Newt held him close for a moment and released him after he stroked his thick hair. “I don’t always say this because I am not an affectionate person. But that’s not … I love you, Little Newt, because you are my son, the best thing I ever did, and I pray you never forget it.” 

Rolf nodded. Charlie made an excuse to go to the bathroom to give them some privacy. He bumped into Tina, who was eavesdropping in the corridor and pretending to critique a painting. She did not cry; Tina held herself and didn’t shed a single tear. 

“Romania, huh?” She took a deep breath. 

“Yep.” 

“Excited?” 

“Yep.” 

“Gonna keep the pudgy kid as your friend? I hear he’s pretty cool.” 

“Yep.” Charlie beamed at her and promised to keep an eye out for Scamander. He took her up on her offer to sleep over and suspected she meant business on that sugar coma when she handed him two large spoons. Tina returned his smile when he gave her a thumbs up. “He’s my best friend. I’ll be with him through thick and thin, Mrs. Scamander, I mean, Tina, so you don't have to worry about anything because he’s my man.” 

"Except dragons.” 

Charlie nodded, clinking the spoons together and reminding himself to send an owl to his parents before he got lost in dessert. He meant to tell her a lot of things, but Tina seemed to get it when he reached out and squeezed her hand. So he said nothing. He didn’t know how long they stood there. He laughed when Tina said she’d tasted the honeycomb ice cream and it was to die for. 

Ten days and counting. And Charlie didn't have a care in the world. Newt Scamander left the dining room and actually called him grandson before he went to set up the spare bedroom. Charlie helped him, though they said nothing of the exchange that had passed in the dining room. Charlie sent off his owl, second-guessed it, and contacted his mum through the Floo Network instead. Around eight, he tracked Rolf sneaking into the kitchen and carrying what looked like a white, furry ape. A Demiguise. 

“It’s not sneaking if it’s yours, genius,” said Charlie, handing over the spoons after he rinsed them under the tap. 

Newt placed a bowl in the sink with chocolate flecks in it and muttered he had no idea where it came from. Embarrassed, he took his time hand washing his dishes. He grabbed a copy of a manuscript off the bread box and revealed the hiding spot with the leftover chocolate birthday cake. He pretended to get lost in his manuscript and waved at them as he backed out of the kitchen, telling them good night. 

“Your grandfather? He’s pretty much the coolest old person ever.” 

“I got this baby Demiguise last year.” Rolf shrugged, picking a carton. “Poppy’s my carry-on for Romania. Grandpa said she’d make it though customs with flying colors. Even without my Muggle passport.” 

Charlie stamped his foot like a little boy. He hoped, if they really considered him as an adoptive son and welcomed him into the family, these birthday and Christmas gifts are retroactive. He followed Rolf down the corridor and pointing at the Demiguise’s nest in a cubbyhole in Rolf’s wall. “That thing’s coming to Romania? Damn straight. Ooooh, I want one.” 

 

Charlie got what he wanted, but after a few years, he got curious and snooped around. Newt Scamander, naturally, was no help at all. Thinking he had someone in the inside, technically, Charlie bent Nymphadora Tonks’s ear. He needed answers. Well, all right, this stretched the truth quite a bit; he wanted answers. Tonks, a candidate in the Auror program, went digging. Charlie stayed with her for a few days in her London flat and took sick leave. 

Annoyed in no time, he raided her food stash and wondered if Mr. What’s His Face fed his Welsh Greens speech and his Peruvian Vipertooths cows. He’d given clear, simple instructions, but people messed up instructions going down the street. When Tonks arrived home at six-thirty in the afternoon, Charlie put away her groceries and told her to spill the beans. 

“Unless you forgot, in which case, I hate you, and we are no longer friends. For today.” Charlie offered her a bite of his peanut butter sandwich and asked the burning question because he couldn't find the man for the life of him. Tonks shook her head, declining the sandwich. “Who is Elphinstone Urquart?”

“Well …” said Tonks, dragging this out as she hung her traveling cloak on a peg by the door. Charlie’s face fell, and he took his feelings out on the sandwich. He folded it in half and devoured it. “He’s dead. But that where it gets interesting.” 

“Dead? Seriously? Oh, does that mean the money stops coming to the account?” Charlie shrugged when Tonks shot him a look. “Right. Sad. Dead? Really? I wanted to meet him.” 

“Charlie, he died in 1985.” Tonks sat on her couch and patted the spot beside her. 

“No,” said Charlie, thinking this couldn’t possibly be true. For one thing, Professor McGonagall had had a conversation with Mr. Urquart and Mr. Scamander three years ago. She’d said so. He sat down and waited for Tonks to pull out a large envelope. “Maybe… maybe there’s another one because that’s not what happened. Professor McGonagall said…” 

Tonks held up a hand. Slowly, she opened the envelope and shuffled through the contents. First, she handed him a death certificate. It revealed that Elphinstone Francis Urquart had died of a Venomous Tentacula attack on September 11, 1985; he passed away at St. Mungo’s. Charlie nodded, confused, but he went along with the story. He read through a copy of an obituary posted in a September 1985 edition of the _Daily Prophet_. It didn't say much. Urquart was a dedicated lawyer … he was childless, survived by a wife. 

“You’re boring me,” he said, monotone. 

“Look.” Tonks handed him another document, a marriage certificate. “Read that.” 

“This is certify that Elphinstone Francis Urquart and Minerva McGonagall were wed on the twenty-second of September 1981,” said Charlie, stopping after the first part and checking out the county. Tonks grinned at him. 

“There’s your answer,” she said, putting the copies back in the file and handing it to him. 

“But…” Charlie faltered, not really sure what to say. 

“Yeah.” Tonks smiled at him. 

She showed him photographs of the dead man. Charlie smiled at one of these, a white-haired man standing over to the side with a woman who was clearly his former Transfiguration professor. She looked younger, but it was clearly her. Someone had zoomed in and stole a private moment because they laughed at some private joke, and the man whispered something in Professor McGonagall’s ear. 

“Amelia Bones gave me that. This was in London on a rainy day. She took this photograph. Aren’t they cute?” 

“Yeah,” said Charlie. He hated the word cute, but old people rather radiated this. He tapped the photograph on his knee, nodding when Tonks said most of this had honestly been buried in public record. He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I gotta go.” 

Tonks frowned at him. “Charlie? Charlie, are you all right?” 

“Yeah. I gotta go. Thanks. See you later?” Charlie got up and tucked the folder under this arm and went outside after grabbing an umbrella. He Disapparated. 

 

Charlie Apparated outside Hogsmeade Station. He strode towards Hogwarts. He didn't send an owl on purpose. What exactly was he going to say to her? You lied, and that’s not cool. Sorry about your husband, I guess, by the way, forged a dead man's hand. He arrived around seven, and he guessed she was still at dinner. Filch let him in. He guessed he could visit Ron, since Ron was new here, and it was his first year, but that meant visiting everyone else, and he really wasn’t in the mood. 

Professor McGonagall came down the corridor on the first floor and spotted him sitting on the floor. She did a double take and offered him a hand. “Mr. Weasley.” 

“Professor McGonagall.” He took her hand and got to his feet. 

She asked the obvious question as she unlocked her door with a tap of her wand. Worry crossed her face. “Why are you here? Is something wrong?” 

“No, no, Professor.” Charlie waited for her to invite him inside and offer him a seat. An awkward silence passed between them. She offered him a drink and he accepted wine with thanks. 

“How are you? How’s Mr. Scamander?” She pointed her wand at the fireplace and started a warm fire. The office door closed and locked itself. 

“Fine. Scamander’s fine. He’s insisting I learn Romanian. I met a gypsy family last Thursday. That … that was fun. I milked a goat.” Charlie relaxed when she raised her eyebrows. “Have you ever done that?” 

“No, I used to live by a shepherd and witnessed a ewe sheering. Does that count?” Professor McGonagall placed her hands on the back of her desk chair. She read something on Charlie’s face. “We were all young once upon a time. A long, long time ago.” 

Charlie went with what he guessed was the appropriate answer. “You’re not that old.” 

“I am. But thank you.” Professor McGonagall shrugged off her emerald green traveling cloak and hung it in a nearby wardrobe. Charlie, taking advantage of her turned back, opened his file and placed the London photograph on her desk along with a snapshot of Elphinstone Urquart. She smiled when she saw these and ran her fingers over the second shot. Her voice sounded softer, less brisk, a little distant. “I remember that day.” 

Charlie unexpectedly felt a little guilty. Was he bringing up painful memories? “Professor.” 

She sat down behind her desk and held out her hand for the file. He didn’t want to give it to her, but he did. Professor McGonagall flipped through the file, flipping the documents facedown. She dropped the niceties. “What’re you doing, Charlie?” 

“It’s not what you think.” Charlie jumped in quickly. 

“What do I think?” Professor McGonagall took off her spectacles and shook her head when Charlie opened and closed his mouth. It was a rhetorical question, he guessed, or she really didn’t need an answer. She spread her fingers. “You caught me.” 

“Sounds like he was a nice man.” Charlie told her some random facts he found out. 

“He was. Elphinstone would’ve agreed to set up the account.” She reached out and patted Charlie’s hand. I don’t favor students, Charlie, because it’s not something I … there are lines.” 

“Like buying Harry Potter a broomstick?” Charlie sat back when she laughed good-naturedly. He didn’t know this for certain, yet he guessed this Mr. Elphinstone Urquart character had been really, really rich. “Yeah. I hear stuff. That was you. A Nimbus Two Thousand? That’s a fortune! You really want to win.” 

“Why are you surprised?” She sat back and shrugged when he asked why she’d chosen to be his benefactor. “Charlie, you deserved a shot. Money … I don’t need that money. I’ve got it, and that’s nice, but it goes towards good things. Or I try to pick good causes." 

“I’m a charity case?” 

“Mr. Weasley,” said Professor McGonagall, returning to her usual brisk manner and replaced her spectacles on her face. “I don’t want to ever hear you say that again. Are you a charity case?” 

“No, ma’am. Of course not.” Charlie agreed, getting to his feet. Professor McGonagall nodded and stood up, too. She walked around her desk and smiled again when he placed her wedding photograph on top of the others. She wore a simple blue dress, and Elphinstone Urquart had chosen a casual suit for the occasion. “I would’ve liked to meet Mr. Urquart.” 

“He would’ve liked that,” she said, accepting his embrace. Professor McGonagall sniffed sharply, and Charlie didn’t feel strange holding her. After a long moment, she patted him awkwardly. “You’re having the time of your life, aren’t you? I can tell by looking at you.” 

“Oh, yeah. Life’s pretty awesome. Pretty damn awesome.” Charlie released her, grinning when she shook her head. He walked to the office door and rested his hand on the doorknob, hesitating, for he knew there was no way to possibly thank her. “Professor?” 

“Think nothing of it, Charlie. Thank you. Tell Mr. Scamander I said hello.” 

“Tell Pudgy Badger hello. Got it.” Charlie saluted her, ignoring her sharp glare, and wished her a good night. He came back a minute later and ran down the corridor. “Oh. I am deathly sincere about this ma’am. I hope you crush Slytherin. Let me know when that happens.” 

“Good night, Charlie,” said Professor McGonagall, sitting back down. “Stay safe.”

“Thanks. About Newt Scamander…” 

“He’s difficult and exhausting,” said Professor McGonagall, stopping when she realized she may have spoken too quickly. She studied her paperwork. 

“Ha. You’re awesome. You made my day.” Grinning from ear to ear, Charlie left the grounds after stopping by to see Hagrid. Pumping his fist in the air, feeling a little lighter and strangely stronger, though he couldn’t explain it, he headed back to London. He couldn’t wait to get back to Romania. 


	2. Chasing  Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rolf Scamander adjusts to life. Adulting is difficult stuff.

Rolf Scamander had no idea how Rita Skeeter ended up on the guest list to his wedding, but he really didn’t know her. And, really, what harm could one woman do? As he stood at the front of the queue by Charlie Weasley’s side, Rolf thought nothing, absolutely nothing, could ruin this day, Even if some woman’s Quick Quotes Quill had punctured so many reputations, the Scamanders were above the fray, and what did he care about the press, especially since he’d be out of the country tomorrow. 

She was an average middle-aged woman, really, since she really worked that Color Changing Charm into clinging onto her bouncy, blonde locks. Rolf made a mental note to ask Luna whether she had invited this woman, though he seriously doubted it, because Luna’s father was the editor and main contributor to the _Quibbler_. Despite the fact that one was clearly not the other, for the _Daily Prophet_ had demanded respect and was the main publication for wizards and witches throughout Britain, it was nice to have another outlet. It was actually a pretty respectable paper, too, because a lot of writers moved on or supplemented with bigger and greater things. 

He was a Scamander. There was very little chance this ended up as a small affair. Luna and Rolf both called England home, and though they had recently been there in the past few years, they’d returned home to tie the knot. They lived out of suitcases; Rolf’s suitcase, one crafted after his grandfather’s, had an Undetectable Extendable Charm concealed within it, and the thing proved invaluable. Rolf recalled his grandparents had married in the 1930’s at a register’s office. It had been nothing but a flash of signatures and photographs. He, Rolf, hadn't been there, of course, for he wasn't even a thought, but it sounded nice. 

Charlie Weasley fitted a rose into the buttonhole of Rolf’s dress robes and embraced him like a brother. Rolf had almost been late to his own wedding because he’d gotten held up in India tracking a trafficked family of Demiguises. The white-haired apelike creatures were tricksters, it was true, but their fur was used like things like Invisibility Cloaks. He’d found a baby and ran out of time at an awkward moment. 

There were appreciative chuckles when Rolf walked up the aisle carrying the Demiguise like a toddler. A lot of the people, the ones that mattered at the end of the day, anyway, understood a Scamander was a Scamander; Rolf was raised in his grandfather’s image, and that was that. He was a stocky dark-skinned man. Growing up, he’d been known as the Pudgy Badger, but Charlie said years of working with dragons and other beasts had shaved off all the baby fat that had definitely not been baby fat. 

“Yes, the baby monkey’s cute, Scamander, we see,” said Charlie, stopping Rolf and relieving him of the Demiguise. He nodded at the Demiguise and lifted its paw, giving himself a high-five. “What’s up, monkey?”

“Not a monkey,” said Rolf, thankful the Demiguise’s fur was invisible because it would’ve clashed severely with the black dress robes. “Got a lint brush?” 

“Really, Scamander? Really, really?” Charlie gestured at the Demiguise and shifting it in his arms. What Rolf should’ve asked for was a teapot, but he didn't want to lock it up. “Next lesson, monkey, fist pump. Yes, indeed!” 

Luna had been home for five days. Rolf had been running around solo for the better part of the week, yet he was used to running around like a chicken with its head cut off, but he’d used to do this all the time. What was life without a little chaos? Bill Weasley got up, and ran over to them so Rolf could see him tap his watch face. Apparently, Bill had lost a bet that Rolf would be late to his own wedding. He reached into his dress robes and deposited a pouch into Charlie’s open hand. 

“Next time, Scamander, be a failure at life.” Bill embraced him and went back to sit by his wife. 

The Weasley family, nice people, had generously given up their garden at the Burrow and thrown this thing together. The date had been placed on the back burner three times in the past five months, and Rolf claimed responsibility for all of this. He’d given up a pristine venue in both New York City and Edinburgh and caused headaches for a lot of people. Arthur Weasley and his crew had thrown this together in three days. The outside of Devon was nice. 

“Looks like rain,” muttered Rolf, wiping condensation off his face. 

‘And they calleth this England,” said Charlie, shaking the officiator’s hand. Tiberius Ogden, a fellow on the Wizengamot, had agreed to conduct the ceremony on practically no notice. Rolf nodded at his grandparents as Charlie squeezed his shoulder. 

Nobody got ran over by the bride. The first thing he heard was derisive laughter, and he jerked his head in Rita’s Skeeter’s direction. Next moment, he saw what made her and others laugh. And his mouth fell open. Luna, who he had expected to wear a simple white dress, came down the aisle decked out in a gown with rainbows and spangles. If this wasn't enough, and it certainly was, she wore this headdress thing made out of a strange choice. 

“Tell me that’s not …” said Rolf breathlessly, staring at his bride. 

“It is.” Charlie confirmed the unicorn horns, plastering a smile on his face. “Close your mouth.” 

Rolf didn't know whether this was offensive or not, and he felt as though someone had placed him under a Body Bind Curse. Even as Mr. Ogden went through his prepared spiel, Rolf took Luna’s hand and heard his name read out twice. 

“Do you, Newton Artemis Fido Rolf Scamander,” said Mr. Ogden. 

“Yes,” said Rolf, not really listening to him. 

When the ceremony ended, he took Luna by the hand, and they bowed to an African man dressed in light white robes; the man, their old friend, Emeka, pulled them to their feet and embraced them. Rita, no doubt, had her Quick Quotes Quill burned into parchment at this strange behavior. Rolf pulled his wife into the Burrow. Bill and the other brothers laughed at him, probably thinking he wanted to skip ahead to the good part, and he did, yet he rather wanted to throw Luna a save. 

“What were you thinking? Were you thinking? Take this off.” 

“Rolf,” said Luna, letting him pull in Ginny’s old bedroom. 

Rolf pointed his wand at Luna’s dress and circled her slowly, thinking quickly. Really, he wanted to strip the thing off and toss it into the kitchen fireplace. He unzipped it and asked her to step out of it. She read the panic on his face as he hissed about the unicorn grant requested at the magi-zoo. Forget about it. He took the unicorn tiara off her head and set the atrocity on Ginny’s bedside table. She stood there in a slip and undid her hair before she started braiding it with quick fingers. 

“All right, don't take this the wrong way, but you just threw away three million Galleons.” Rolf paced the room. Maybe this was the record for the quickest fight between a bride and groom on their wedding day. When he said she could do whatever she’d wanted on her wedding day, he hadn’t literally meant that. And he realized now it was too late. 

“Oh, Rolf,” said Luna, sitting on the bed as the gravity of her mistake hit her. 

Rolf waved his wand over the dress and transfigured it into a tea length red wedding gown with delicate flowers; he’d spotted it in a bridal magazine, and it popped into his mind. He waited for an opinion, and when she said nothing, he helped her slip it back on. Her shoes and the slip and undergarments, about the only acceptable pieces of this ensemble, were altered to match with a Color Changing Charm. Women could change dresses for the reception, right? He’d seen this in America once or twice. 

“Don’t be offended,” he said softly, kissing her shoulder. Rain splashed on the windows. Did it really matter that the damage was already done? Luna said she was fine and let her hair fall. “You look beautiful. Don't apologize. I’ll … I’ll figure something out.” 

“Red’s your favorite color.” 

She beamed at him as he changed into a casual suit; this had been an expected wardrobe change. Rolf merely waved his wand over himself and shifted the attire before he pulled on a vintage coat. He nodded at the bed, throwing a suggestion out there. Luna rolled her eyes and steered him back outside to cheers. She squealed with Rolf lifted her into his arms and carried her into the large tent. He would’ve married this woman in squalor in the rain in the middle of nowhere. When he set her down, they shared their first dance. 

Rita Skeeter, it seemed, had already gotten her scoop and the Quick Quotes Quill, disappeared right after the newlyweds kissed. 

Rolf broke apart from Luna and accepted two wine glasses from a waiter. Charlie, already a little tipsy to nobody's surprise, sauntered into the middle of the tent and reminded Rolf a wedding was a time for drinking and celebration. Ginny Potter clinked her glass with a fork and nodded to her brother as private conversations broke down. 

“Scamander, Scamander, I sat up last night thinking about how I was going to pull this off, and I did you a favor because I tested the wine for poison. We’re good. Who got this with three days’ notice?” Charlie raised his glass to Tina and Newt, who sat together at a nearby table. Newt waved his hand. There was general applause and laughter. “Grandpa and Grandma are awesome. Here, monkey.” 

“A drunk Demiguise would be a bad idea,” said Newt. 

He was white-haired and had thankfully put on a little weight since Rolf had last saw him. He’d recently recovered from a nasty bout of flu followed by pneumonia. At the tender age of 113, a combination of any disease, whether magical or Muggle, especially a one-two punch, could’ve easily wiped Newt Scamander out. His wife wasn't too far behind him. 

“See? I told you I was going to make it through this damn wedding,” said Newt, lifting his glass towards his grandson. 

“Yes, Grandpa,” said Rolf, nodding. 

He lived in fear of losing his grandparents, who were essentially his parents when his father had walked out of the picture ages ago. Newt said he could die happily now, but Rolf held up a finger and mimed putting a pushpin in that idea. Over the last couple of years, Rolf had essentially acted as Newt Scamander for all intents and purposes. Newt had retired back in 1990 and stayed in Dorset. He still released editions of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and the Children's Anthology of Monsters, though it was understood Rolf and his team did most of the groundwork. 

“Not yet,” said Luna. 

“Great grandchildren would be nice, you know, since you asked him to live and all,” added Tina, shrugging as she adjusted her shawl over her dress. 

“Damn, Grandma,” Charlie interjected. He drew a check in the air and clapped his hands together enthusiastically, intimating a Spanish woman they had met whilst on their travels. “Done. Okay, rápido, rápido.” 

Rolf, sipping his wine, coughed and gave a thumbs-up. Luna giggled and snuggled next to Rolf. 

“That requires an explanation for those of you who weren’t there because it’s funny. Scamander turns red. Or would if he could. Yeah, there we go.” Charlie winked as Rolf buried his face in his hands. Charlie, or so Rolf guessed, changed his best man’s speech on the spot. Bill raised his hand and asked this was about Lima, Peru. “Yes! That one. But this is my story, brother, what are you doin’?”

“Sorry, brother,” said Bill. 

“It’s okay. So, we were in Lima on holiday. Well, I went to visit Scamander and his lady here. Scamander doesn’t take holidays. I don’t think he knows how. Luna does. Yes.” Charlie walked over and gave Luna a high-five. “Side note, Luna learned how to drink margaritas on the night in question, but more on that later. So, there was this lady. Señora Vasquez. She cornered these two because these two have been together forever. She keeps hitting Scamander. ‘Babies? You two have babies soon, I imagine, yes? Babies soon? Time running out. Rápido, rápido.’And Scamander … Scamander walks straight into rainforest and disappears for three days. He comes out carrying this …” 

“All right, first off, it was a dragon’s tooth. A Vipertooth.” Rolf raised his glass to his grandfather and they drank together. “Thank you. He knows what I’m talking about. Secondly, I’m thirty-eight … she’s …Can I share this?” 

“Twenty-nine,” said Luna, giving her age freely and giggled with Ginny as she patted Rolf’s arm. She perched herself on his lap when he sat down on a bench.“He knew that, so he gets points.” 

“Right on. Are these points retroactive?” Rolf chinked glasses with his wife and laughed at the confused expression on her face. Nearly everyone laughed, though it seemed to go over Luna’a head. “That’s a need to know, Luna, because I’m gonna slip up.” 

“Oh, my God,” gasped Ginny, laughing so hard she cried, handing Harry her champagne glass. 

They danced the night away. Rolf didn't know much about a lot, though he was smart enough to admit this. His grandfather had fallen asleep in the chair around ten. After one the following morning, they Apparated with the grandparents back to Dorset. After helping them to bed and seeing the by Demiguise was all right, Rolf headed into the guest bedroom. Luna was underneath the covers and tossed her slip at him. When he got in bed, she asked if he was tired. Rolf shook his head, enjoying her laughter when he suggested horizontal dancing. 

 

They had sex, lots of sex over the next couple of years, yet nothing took. Well, she had a miscarriage traveling from Cairo, to Geneva, and back to Cairo. Although Rolf tried not to worry, he did. She was young, much younger than him, but this would soon be a more difficult task in a few years. Panicked, he'd talked her into taking an expensive fertility potion and lived by her biological clock. Luna shifted underneath him, but Rolf focused, calculating. Breeding was a natural process to him, a science, and Rolf needed this to pay off.

"There's an experimental treatment in Alexandria. They could try .... keep it out of the press." Rolf groaned when she changed things up and shifted on top of him. Luna cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to shut up. He groaned.

"Will you be quiet? You get more in three days than anyone I know. We're fine." She let him go and collapsed onto the bed. She laid there and shook her head when he made a notation in an open journal. "There's no clock, Rolf."

"There is. And once you're thirty-five. Tick, tick tick." Rolf pulsed his hand and got distracted by her kisses. Charlie knocked on the door and they broke apart. Rolf got dressed before he handed her a goblet. "Lunch. Five-thirty. Tonight. Maybe again. It'll work. It hasn't yet." 

"You're romantic." 

"I'm not like this." He kissed her again, distracted when Charlie knocked on the door again. Luna nodded, telling him to relax because he scared her. Rolf left and locked the bedroom door. He stayed in a house with Charlie in the heart of Deva with the other dragon handlers. He said good morning and headed downstairs. He couldn't help but notice Charlie studying him. "What? Say it. Whatever it is." 

"Okay." Charlie whipped up eggs and slid his breakfast onto the butcher countertop.

He paused, thinking about how to say this. They were best mates, Charlie and Rolf, and though this had tapered off in recent years, they enjoyed a level of honesty. Especially since they worked with each other on assignment again, Rolf enjoyed a rare normalcy. Luna got up, said she was off to the clinic, the local one ran by gypsies, and she'd be back soon. Rolf told her this and that, said he loved her, and Luna answered him with a stony silence and slammed the front door. 

"Ouch." Charlie got that message loud and clear. 

"She's fine," said Rolf, dismissing this with a wave of his hand. 

"If you treated me like I was in a Hippogriff breeding program, I'd be angry, too. Now, I don't know much, me, and I stay out of it. Because I don't care." Charlie sipped his coffee and perched himself on top of the counter. He held up a hand, saying Luna remained the only capable woman on his research team. "She's not a Hippogriff, Rolf." 

Charlie rarely called Rolf by his first name. Since their schooldays, Rolf had always beenScamander or Mr. Scamander. Usually Scamander. Luna threw in a Newton every now and again, but she had to be really, really angry or determined to make a point, and it was sometimes hard to get Rolf to listen. Rolf sat there, ashamed. They hadn't broadcasted this fertility potion thing, but he wasn't surprised Charlie knew. 

"Ginny talks. A lot. I like having a little sister who does this." Charlie mimed with hand and acted like it was a chatterbox. "Not Molly Weasley. Close sometimes, though. Chatted over Floo at two this morning. Five her time. What'd we talk about, work wife?" 

Rolf made a face. 

"Right. Like you don't know. Legally, you're her husband, and I bet the sex is good, but you've been mine since we were seventeen. Right? Am I right, Scamander? Ask me why you're the woman in this scenario. Go on." 

"Timetables and cleanliness." 

"Good girl. So, pretty, so smart. Look at you, honey, so pretty, so smart." Charlie opened a counter and scarfed down granola by the handful. "Pretty boy." 

"Control freak." 

"Oh! Me? Hell, no. Hello, Newton Scamander, have you met yourself? Water treatment and temperature variance. Scientific method? That's a Muggle thing. Simmer, Pudgy Badger. I'd kill to be you at night. It's sex. Enjoy it." Charlie jumped down and chucked his rucksacks over his shoulder as he headed towards the door. He added a caveat when they got outside. "By the way, I get laid. All the time." 

"Right." 

Rolf sighed when they dropped the subject and Charlie granted them access to the Heartstrings Sanctuary and worked through the protective charms and enchantments. They entered the Vipertooth encampment first. Rolf thought he visited the Welsh Greens first, but he shrugged this off and adjusted the bandage on his arm underneath the long-sleeved shirt and grabbed the feeding equipment. 

The first three converged at the trough. Two more followed. The last one, a little one, snorted. Rolf needed to check his incision site. Yesterday, they'd had a scuffle, Domino and Rolf, but as Vipertooths had a taste for human flesh, it wasn't surprising a smooth-scaled copper Peruvian Vipertooth took the defensive. Rolf laid the small cow carcass on the ground and stepped back. He turned his head when Charlie said the other lazy bones, the other handlers, had risen. 

This was a mistake. 

Next moment, Rolf was lifted off the ground and got shaken fiercely. Laughter and chatter filled the encampment. Domino let him go, but this wasn't out of sympathy. No, he played with his food and slammed Rolf into the carcass. Rolf frantically pieced together the protocol and Charlie gathered with the other dragon handlers, the Stunners. Domino was a male, which meant he wasn't as vicious as a female, but the good news stopped there. Yesterday had been a scratch. A stupid scratch. Rolf crawled away and held up his hand. He jerked his head when Luna screamed and Domino's fangs sliced into him and pierced his side. Rolf foamed at the mouth and gagged. Blood ran down his back. Domino took another stab as the Stunning Spells hit him, but a lot of them bounced off his copper scales. 

"Charlie, please," groaned Rolf, reaching out. 

There was a faint pop and people screamed. He felt the dragon peeling back layers of skin on his other hand. Domino, zeroing in one the blood from the fresh wound, ripped off the bandage and struck with his fangs. Rolf revolved slowly to face the creature and felt tears in his eyes. Domino, seeking weakness in his prey, raised his wings as Rolf blacked out. 

 

"If his heart stops again," said a male voice. 

"Enough of this. I'm a match. We got tested when he entered the sanctuary. We have the same blood-type. Take me." This was Charlie. He slammed someone into a wall. "You don't understand... he's mine. He's mine!" 

Rolf opened his eyes and opened his mouth as some dark-skinned woman in vibrant colors tipped a potion into his mouth. She spoon fed him and spoke in a tongue he didn't know. She looked scared, a Romani girl, a gypsy, so he stroked her hand. 

“I’ll do it. Whatever it is.” Charlie readied himself as he jumped around on the spot, seemingly talking himself into doing this. He cracked his neck. “Let’s do this. What do you need? A transfusion?” 

"There's Blood Replenishing Potion for that, Charlie," said Luna wearily. "He took his spleen ... which is fine ... but his liver... it's shredded." 

"Take mine. Do you realize how brilliant he is?" Charlie muttered about internal bleeding and the poison coursing through Rolf's veins. He stood by an old man, a man dressed in a peacock blue overcoat. It was Newt. He said it didn't work that way. "Why not?" 

"Proper match," sighed Rolf weakly. It ran in families. He kissed Luna and gave her a weak one-armed hug when she walked over to his bedside. Newt raised his knobby arm and made Rolf laugh even though it hurt like hell. "You're 115 there, old man, slow down. You'll die. No." 

"His father. Find his father." Charlie marched in the small room and flipped Rolf off when said no. Rolf's father hadn't been around, and he needn't ask him for anything. Chances were, Frank Scamander's liver was bathed in gin, or Firewhisky, or whatever toxins he pushed through his system. Who wanted that? "Screw you. Who asked you? Take your potion. Stupid." 

"Charlie," said Luna, pulling up a chair and taking Rolf's hand. 

"No! Francis never gave him anything. He owes him. The liver regenerates itself. I'll find the bastard and force him into the transplant. Frank owes him." Charlie nodded at Newt and pounded his fist into his open hand. Newt nodded and beckoned him out of the room. 

"It's not going to work," said Rolf, squeezing Luna's hand. She said his heart had stopped and sighed when he offered the Healers an interesting case. The Romani girl, a qualifying Trainee Healer returned his high-five. 

"Idiot. You died. You died in Charlie's arms. Good luck begging for forgiveness on that one. Work wife is pissed. No more." Luna got up when the Healers asked her to leave and held up a hand, asking for a moment. Rolf told her to kiss him. "Don't die." 

"You knew about the work wife thing?" 

"Seriously? You're a bad woman. You've been married for, like, twenty years. Twenty-three." Luna shook her head and accepted a bag from another Healer who congratulated her. Luna shushed her and signed a clipboard in a hurry. Rolf raised his eyebrows and relaxed when she stroked his soaked hair and whispered in his ear. "Get healed. And you get a good night. Like good sex. Remember Lima and Rio de Janeiro?" 

“Our honeymoon. That good?" 

"Yeah. Dying means no sex for you." Luna spoke normally and ignored the blushing Romani girls. She pressed her lips to his before she left. "See you around, Mr. Scamander." 

"Marriage? I know you're young, gypsy girl, but it's totally worth it." Rolf took his potion and made his helpers laugh. She said her name was Elena and dipped his hand in Essence of Murtlap. She placed his wedding band on the bedside table. He lectured her on the Murtlap and she said to keep talking because she needed to get through qualifications. 

"Scamander? You're ... Scamander?" 

"Last time I checked. Check your clipboard.” 

Rolf grinned when she did a delayed double check as though she expected the real Newt Scamander to come through the door again. A couple of hours later, they pushed him in an operating room. He spotted Luna, Charlie, his grandfather, and a pudgy blonde man on the other side of the glass panels. They seemed to be arguing. Luna raised her hands and backed away from the man, screaming. Rolf wondered what she said, but the room was sealed by Silencing and Muffilato Charms. He'd never seen her so livid.

She said something, pleading with Frank, clasping her hands together. Newt and Charlie exchanged a look. A little later, Frank lay on a table opposite his son in a hospital gown. 

"Newton." 

"Francis." 

Frank nodded, watching Rolf take another dose of Blood Replenishing Potion. "What do I get?" 

"You haven't changed." Rolf shook his hand at Elena when she offered him water. Frank, the usual strung out fallen son, cut to the chase. "What?" 

"You're the precious grandson. You get his money." Frank didn't buy it when Rolf said he had nothing to do with Newt's gold. Frank said he'd passed the screening, and he certainly didn't appreciate bring dragged here like spare parts. He got up and tapped the thick window. He pointed at Luna, who was hugging Newt and handed him a coffee. Rolf asked him to leave, and Frank called him on his bluff. "You love that plain girl? Want to leave her? Strapped with your kids? My, you are me." 

"I'm not. I am nothing like you, you filthy rat!" Rolf raised his head as Elena covered his hair in a cap. He played the other part through his mind. "What did you say?" 

"Oh. You didn't know? Plain Jane out there is having your twins. She doesn't like me. So, what's your life worth it you, Newton?" Frank let Elena prep him, too. "You look awful." 

Rolf, shocked, held up hand, stopping Elena from moving on with her next steps.

"He's dying isn't he, girl?" Frank jerked his head at Elena. She nodded, cursing in Romanian, or so Rolf guessed. Frank mentioned Rolf should have died as an infant. "You want your happy little family? How much?" 

"Good-bye, Francis." Rolf stared at the ceiling. 

"It'll be painful. But it's your choice." 

"Wait." Frank rested his hand on the door handle. Rolf swallowed a lump on his throat. His grandfather would kill him for this. "Two hundred and fifty Galleons and shares in the Scamander Foundation." 

Frank sneered at him. "Double it." 

"Five hundred thousand upfront and the shares allotted when he dies." Rolf wasn’t dare going to pull this in front of his grandfather and play the disrespectful card, for he wasn't that stupid, but he'd keep his word. This didn't warrant the atrocity or dramatic pitfall of an Unbreakable Vow; Francis Scamander wasn't worth dying for; the fool wasn't worth a thing. Rolf hesitated, offering his sweaty hand. "Francis." 

 

It turned out the worthless, deadbeat dad wasn't lying about Rolf’s impending fatherhood. Had Rolf not been lying in bed, he’d sworn he would’ve pulled off a cliché and fainted right then and there when Luna told him. So, he guessed he owed Francis thanks for saying from an embarrassing moment. Luna said she was thankful to be off the fertility treatments. Of course, six months later, seven months into the pregnancy, she blamed him for suggesting she play host to two parasites because they drained the life out of her. 

Their traveling came to screeching halt when a Healer in Deva said Luna had heart problems, and they returned home to England because more than one Healer told her to slow down. The Romanians kept in touch with St. Mungo’s because when she had a fainting spell, they placed her bedrest. The screeching halt really hit her. They moved in with his grandparents in Dorset, so they were technically homeless for the moment. 

“This is temporary,” said Rolf patiently. He told her this a lot. He plopped on the bed and placed his hands behind his head. He heard sniffling and said, his sympathy wearing, “What?” 

“They took me off assignment, and this isn't how we were supposed to come home. Guess what? We don't have a home!” When Rolf flat-out said she was raving and stretching the truth, she said, pacing the room with an awkward gait. “Oh, yes, because everyone dreams of raising their kids across the corridor from their grandparents! Newt …” 

“Loves you. And he doesn't say that to people, so I’d feel honored if I were you.” 

“I feel like a beached whale. Why is this okay? Your fantastic idea about fertility treatment? You’re fine.” She scoffed when Rolf said he got his first desk job at the _Daily Prophet_ and he missed traveling with his suitcase all the time. He still got out, of course, but it wasn't the same. And he had to deal with Rita Skeeter’s snarky comments and awful writing; he’d never had to deal with gossip. Luna shouted her weight at him and placed a hand on her back. “Did you read what she wrote about me in that gossip column? I don't even know her! Waddle Feet?” 

“Right. I call you that.” Rolf burst out laughing, and it dawned on him too late that this was definitely the wrong when she burst out crying. She’d used to laugh at him, and comments like this rolled off her back like water, so Rolf stepped into unfamiliar territory. He switched tact like the drop of a hat. He’d buried the secret about Frank long enough, and he desperately needed to tell someone to get this off his chest. He tiptoed around the subject like she was a sleeping dragon. “So … now would be a bad time to admit that the Scamander Foundation didn't take a hit last year. I may or may not have, er, I dunno, stolen money to pay off my father?” 

Luna stared at the ceiling and wiped her eyes. “You what?” 

“Borrowed. Borrowed sounds better, right? Borrowed, yeah.” Rolf nodded, convincing himself as he plowed on. Along with his assignments he gathered for the newspaper, he’d been taking secret assignments on the side in a desperate attempt to refill the coffers. Rolf, meek, said, barely audible, “Yeah, that’s bad. Please don't do that. Not the crying thing.” 

“We’re homeless. You hate your job, and we’re stealing from Newt. Newt! He invited us home. And you’re lying to me.” Barely controlling herself as her voice shook with emotion, losing it. Luna jerked away when he got up and reached out to touch her. Luna turned on the water works and cried harder than ever. “You’re never home. We don’t have a home, Newton, so I … I think … I’m completely entitled to do … the crying thing.” 

“Luna.” 

“No.” Luna refused to hear it. There was a faint pop. 

She strode out of the bedroom and hissed at Rolf when he followed her into the kitchen. Tina sat at the table reading a copy of the _New York Ghost_ and sipping a coffee. When Rolf asked Luna to get it off her chest, she ignored Tina when she warned them in an offhand way that Newt was taking an afternoon nap. Tina didn't even bothering asking and said she knew about the missing money, and so did Newt. They weren’t stupid. Seeing Luna fall to pieces, Tina conjured an ice cream cone and ordered her to take a minute. 

“Step back. Here.” Tina handed her the newspaper. 

Luna caved and reminded Rolf of a really fat toddler as she sat down at the table and did the crossword. 

Rolf scoffed at his grandmother, lowering his voice so Luna couldn’t hear. She got lost in her own world. “Ice cream? Really?” 

“It worked for you,” said Tina, adding he wasn't a chubby kid because of baby fat. She conjured him one for giggles and suggested they take a walk. He took her hint … he also took the ice cream. They went outside, arm in arm, and he said he never had chocolate chip before. It wasn't mint chocolate chip, his favorite, but this was pretty high up on the list. ‘Yeah. And you like to act like I don't know you. Boy, please, give a woman some credit, Newton, because I raised you. I don’t know you? Ha.” 

“This is guilt ice cream. No. Mine.” Rolf tasted it, holding the cone out of her reach. “Tell me off, Grandma. Start with Evil Spawn. I should be nicer and more tolerant of Evil Spawn, right? Because he's my father … blah, blah. That makes me spawn of Evil Spawn and black junkie.” 

“Your father isn't Evil Spawn. And it’s Deidre.” 

Rolf, chuckling, licked the dripping cone. “Want to hear what Grandpa calls him? It’s not kind.” 

“Yeah, I know,” she said, crossing her arms and turning to face him. “I love you, Newton, but you have to fight not to be him. You’re like Francis. You are. It’s not tunnel vision. You’re searching for an out. An escape. I get it, okay? Look. I’m married to the original weirdo, and you’re a mirror image of that man. That’s a compliment.” 

Rolf scoffed. 

“You’re going from this many to this many.” Tina held up two fingers and added two more. “That’s scary. She’s three. Luna deserves to go mental. I like her. By the way, I listened at your bedroom door. If I were her, I would’ve kicked your fat ass from here to Sunday if you ever pulled that nonsense on me. Are we clear?” 

“Yes.” 

“Rolf, you were this cute little kid who waved at everyone in New York. New York. And New Yorkers … we’re predisposed to hate everywhere, literally everywhere but New York. Not you. I swore your grandfather put you up to it. Remember that kid.” 

“What does that mean?” Rolf sighed when his grandfather came outside and his grandmother left. “She’s strange. Your wife.” 

“I thought we were the strange ones? It’s cold and you’re eating that.” 

“Er, we’ve met, right?” Rolf wiped his hands on his trousers. “I can do this, right? Be a dad and not screw over my kids? If I screw this up and pull a Francis out of nowhere, I swear to God, Grandpa, I’ve have nothing left.” 

“I can't raise your kids. I’m old.” Newt handed him his own vintage peacock overcoat. “Your father, whatever went on there, whatever snapped, that’s not on me. I used to think so. I tried, I did, and I would’ve dragged Francis around the world if I thought it would’ve helped. That’s not on me. Him missing out on his grandchildren? That’s on him. Not on you. Nor Grandma. Nor Luna. I love Luna. If I had a daughter, she’d be it. Good pick, grandson.” 

“So you keep telling me.” Rolf draped an arm over the old man’s shoulder. 

“Got names yet?” 

“Well, we’ve decided on the same letter. “Silva and Sarah if they’re girls, although I like Melinda and Maisie.” 

“Girls? There hasn’t been a Scamander girl since … Scamanders don't have girls.” 

 

They weren't girls. In fact, they were mixed fraternal twins, and this came as a delightful surprise to both of them. They were boys, as Newt had predicted, but Lysander was black or dark-skinned, whilst Lorcan, the dominant one, took after his mother’s fair skin and blonde hair. Luna and Rolf now lived ten minutes away from Newt and Tina and had barely gotten the place together before the boys arrived. 

Time passed. Rolf drifted away from his journal collections with the encouragement of his grandfather and picked up the quill to start writing. A freelance contributor to the _Daily Prophet_ , Rolf continued traveling when he could and supplemented what he could with the extra income. There was no denying it, if course, the Scamanders were well past well off or comfortable. Charlie, or so rumor had it, had started writing, too, and it came rather naturally. (He called this pulling a Scamander.) Rolf, a scientist and an observer at the heart, found writing very difficult because he wrote as a scientist. 

Over the first year of having the boys, Rolf struggled with wanting to be home whenever he was away, and it broke his heart whenever he left on assignment. He wasn't Newt in this way. Either Newt seriously liked him or Newt had struggled with this when he raised Rolf, too, for Newt had dragged young Rolf anywhere and everywhere. Rolf tried to sneak out of the house on some mornings. 

After a third interview with the _Daily Prophet_ , he flew through without even trying and signed on as Chief Consulting Magizoologist. He’d honestly half-assed the interview for giggles and walked into the _Daily Prophet_ office in Diagon Alley sporting a blazer over jeans and a t-shirt. It’s not that he didn't want it, though his heart wasn't in it, and truthfully, with all he did with regards to the Scamander Foundation and the magi-zoo hidden in London, he didn't even want it. Rolf walked outside, taking a breather and laughing at the stupidity of his steal. 

“Laughing at a private joke? Are you as mad as your wife?” asked Rita Skeeter, who seemed miffed about something or other. Luna came down the street as the boy’s chanted, ‘Daddy’s work, Daddy’s work’ and argued her to hurry. Rolf, surprised, beamed at them and said hello to Rita. He didn't like her, and they were frenemies, really, but he enjoyed killing her with overt kindness. “That’s a little presumptuous.” 

“Oh, it turns out we’re colleagues,” said Rolf, lifting Lysander in his arms. Rita looked as though he’d doused her with Stinksap. “Yeah, yeah.” 

“Must be nice being the prodigal grandson,” she seethed, reaching for something in one of her hideous crocodile skin handbags, no doubt one of her Quick Quotes Quills. 

“So, are we gainfully employed or we playing the part of the layabout?” 

Luna gave him a thumbs-up when Rolf chose the first option, and although she was obviously joking, Rolf bet Rita would twist her words, and he actually looked forward to reading her gossip column tomorrow. Rolf actually never stopped moving because he took assignments here and there on top of his other responsibilities. Luna kissed him. 

“Black and white?” Rita hated the Scamanders for keeping their lives under wraps and fighting for a private life. It wasn't as though Rolf was famous like Harry Potter or Myron Wagtail of the Weird Sisters, but he enjoyed life out of the spotlight. The boys were rarely paraded around in public. Rita glared at Luna. “Well, that doesn’t happen! What did you do? Sleep around with that African at your wedding?” 

“Rita,” said Rolf, warning her as patiently as he could. 

“Didn’t you have infertility problems? Difficult being a Scamander, eh, Miss Lovegood? Pressured for an heir?” prompted Rita, pressing on relentlessly. “Was the other man there?” 

“It’s Scamander,” said Luna evenly, annoyed with her. “It’s Luna Lovegood Scamander, but you know that, don't you? And, no. Since when is my private life any of your business?” 

“Touchy,” commented Rita, adjusting her jeweled spectacles. 

Luna stepped forward, ready to tell Rita Skeeter what she thought of her, but Rolf held her back. 

“Oh, yeah, because my wife is so talented she carried two children with different fathers at the same time,” said Rolf, raising an eyebrow. “Couple critical thinking with common sense, Miss Skeeter, for it saves lives. Let's not make it harder than it has to be.” 

Rita bit back a response. He advised she her to think before she spewed word vomit. Coincidentally, Lysander did carry the said Kenyan’s name and was called Lysander Emeka. Lorcan’s middle name was Charles because the boys carried the names of two men Luna and Rolf loved unconditionally. Rita acted as though she still struggled to piece this together as she studied the white boy and the black boy. Enjoying this moment, keeping it casual, his tone dripped with sarcasm as he dropped knowledge on the gossip columnist. 

“Alleles and genetics, Rita, it’s the luck of the draw. We’re lucky. See you later? Quidditch World Cup next week. Ought to be fun, right? Yeah, yeah.” 

Luna, using one her favorite lines she’d learned from Emeka, parted with Rita in Swahili. Rita stood there, dumbstruck as Rolf walked off with his family. 

“I’m awesome,” Rolf said, draping his free arm over Luna’s shoulder. 

“That was so wrong,” said Luna, giggling as they headed towards the Leaky Cauldron. She placed Lorcan in the double pram and pushed it along the cobblestone street. “So worth it.” 

“Right?” Rolf waved at barman and switched twins with Luna when they skid into a booth. They shared fish and chips with a side salad and fed the boys on their laps. “I’m chained to a desk because you wanted me home. Are we happy?” 

“That was my decision? Who cried the last time he left for Alexandria and Cairo?” She flashed him a knowing smile when Rolf bowed his head. “Yeah, I thought that went differently. But, yes, if you’re happy, Rolf, I’m happy.” 

“Daddy, biscuit,” said Lorcan.

“Let’s eat this first,” suggested Luna, feeding him said salad with light dressing instead. She was a naturalist, and although she rarely travelled outside the UK, she worked at the magi-zoo and got back to work a few months after having the boys. Xenophilius Lovegood and Rolf’s grandparents actually fought over babysitting the kids during certain parts of the year. Luna, a hardcore believer in a healthy lifestyle, unapologetically warned Rolf she’d be shoving healthy food in their boys’ faces. “Rita Skeeter. She's a …” 

“… a witch. Yeah. All joking aside, she’s actually a talented writer if she puts her mind to it. I’ve read her early stuff. It’s really good.” Rolf shrugged when Luna asked if he was checking up on Rita. He dipped his chips, baked, not fried, into a mayo and ketchup mixture. A year after giving birth, Luna was still getting her figure back, so they skirted the healthy eating binge and cheated rarely. “Who’re we leaving the kids with when we go to Argentina?” 

“Newt.” 

“Of course. He always wins. And you say I’m the pushover?” Rolf handed Lorcan a chip. Luna frowned at him, downright denying that she played favorites. But she did. She swung between calling him Grandpa and Newt. To the boys, Xenophilius was Grandpa and Newt was Grandad. Rolf pointed at Lorcan and Lysander. “Guess who wants another one of these? He sent me an owl yesterday. You’re cute old Scamander man.”

“No. They’re not even two. Seriously?” Luna accidentally kicked Rolf as she crossed her legs, and he imagined they were staying closed for the foreseeable future. She flicked salad dressing at him when he suggested an activity tonight after telling the boys a bedtime story. “Ha, ha. No, thank you.” 

“Want to practice?” He shrugged, saying he had to try. “No on sex tonight? No. Hell, no.” 

“Newton.” 

“Ah, I hate when you do that. You’re not Grandma. Nope. Got it.” Rolf squeezed her hand, telling her she was still beautiful. Luna blushed. He knew the rejection extended to the family; she didn’t want more children because they’d gotten a one-two punch here. “We make pretty babies.” 

“We do.” 

“I think Rita’s jealous.” 

“Do not kill that woman.” advised Luna, cleaning up their table. 

She placed the babies in the double pram. Lorcan and Lysander shared what sounded like an interesting conversation, though most of it was babble. Luna hadn't been abroad in ages, and she really looked forward to the Patagonian Desert. It wasn't the Quidditch World Cup that excited her. Not really. She hadn't seen her friends in a long time and needed to know she still stood out as a world traveler. True, neither of them were anything like they’d been in their heyday, globetrotters without a care in the world, but they sometimes got an inch. The QWC was a belated anniversary present. 

“So, I might’ve bought you something,” said Rolf, stopping outside Madam Malkin’s. 

“Rolf, the tickets were enough,” she said. 

“Yeah, oooh, and guess who’s gonna be there?” Rolf skipped ahead of her, went to grab his present and held the dress in his arms. It was a summer dress with the sixteen qualifying nations of the Quidditch World Cup blended together. There was a red slip underneath, and he let her steal a peak. As Rita passed, Luna parked the pram and threw her arms around his neck. “Guess. It’s no fun if you don't guess. Play.” 

“Emeka? You bought Emeka a ticket?” Rolf nodded. Luna kissed him passionately on the busy main street. “Best husband ever. We haven't seen him since the wedding. Oh, I can't wait!” 

 

**Fifteen Years Later, September 2030, Epilogue**

The world could wait. Nearly sixty, Rolf paced the Ministry of Magic corridor and told himself he wasn’t his grandfather, he wasn't that Newt Scamander. Hadn’t Charlie told him that? Still, he received an unexpected owl and showed up to London dressed in trendy jeans and his grandfather’s old peacock overcoat for luck. Did he deserve this? No. And everyone said this, absolutely everyone beat it into the ground so much it was cliché, but he meant it was an honor to be recognized. 

The boys, lanky and chatty, were teenagers now. Rolf had enjoyed watching them grow up as two individuals. Lysander had Rolf’s think hair and chin, but he had Luna’s mystical eyes. Lorcan favored his mother in almost every way. The headmaster had excused them from school. How often was your father up for an Order of Merlin? Luna, her hair pinned up, wore a silk satin gown and raced out of the conference hall. Her face was a little lined, but she held onto her looks. 

“Where’re you doing?” She waved her beaded handbag and studied their faces. “They’re about to announce … what the hell are you doing?”“He’s freaking out,” said Lysander, grinning.

“Finally,” said Lorcan, pinning a golden pin of a newt on his Hogwarts robes. He rubbed his hands together. “This is the best day ever.” 

“He’s not freaking out,” said Luna, striding over and slapping Lorcan’s hand away as he waved it in his father’s face. “Rolf? Rolf?” 

“I can’t breathe. I’m not … this is madness.” Rolf stared at her without seeing her. “He’s dead. I’m not him. Which idiot nominated me? What’s the expected line? My student … Sera … Seraphina Picquery … this is a twisted … Newt would find this laughable.” 

“It’s an honor just to be nominated? Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m not buying that line.” She swore. Luna glared at Lysander and Lorcan when they burst out laughing; their mother never cursed. “You’re a Scamander. You built four sanctuaries, three magi-zoos. London, New York, Nairobi and Vancouver. That’s you. Newt … Newt would be speechless. You are Newt. You are extraordinary. No matter what.” 

“It’s just gold, Dad,” said Lysander, reaching in his robes and handing from a Galleon. He added another when they reached the doors. “There, it has a friend. For your trouble.” 

Lorcan turned out his empty pockets and shrugged. “What he said?” 

“You and you, fools,” said Rolf, resting a hand on both his sons’ shoulders, “you are the best things I ever did. Thank you.” 

They went back into the hall as Seraphina Picquery, a guest speaker from across the pond, strode in front of the Wizengamot and presented the candidates for nomination. She had nothing to do with this nomination. Rolf saw his own photograph fade and get replaced by a wizard he didn't know; he’d left before this had started. He lost the Order of Merlin to a Jack Smith. Seraphina stopped, smiling, catching her breath, and opened another golden envelope. 

“For the undying efforts of the Heartstrings Sanctuary and its brother sanctuary, Heart of Africa, in Nairobi, Kenya the Order of Merlin, Second Class, goes to… Mr. Charles Weasley and Mr. Newt Scamander for their strides on dragon research and preservation.” 

They’d expected this project, Charlie’s baby, to go nowhere. The Scamander Foundation had set fire to the flame. They’d hatched this crazy scheme during the Quidditch World Cup of 2014. 

Rolf froze. He hadn't expected this second nomination! The Weasley family, the ones who were present, exploded and went mad. Charlie entered from the other side and went up the stairs of the platform twice, tripping over his robes. Hermione Granger, Minister for Magic, kissed them both on the cheek and shook their hands. Charlie dropped his hand and reached out to Rolf before he lost it. Hermione placed handsome medals with purple ribbons around their necks. Crying, Charlie locked his brother in a tight embrace and pulled at his clothes. 

“You need you say something,” said Hermione and Seraphina together.

“Magizoology is the heart of our world, and thus, it our responsibility to protect it. We share this world … it is not ours. Never has been. My grandfather … my grandfather … gave me life. He lives. Live and let live. Thank you.” 

They raised their clasped hands and interlocked fingers as they bowed. As they walked off the platform, Rolf admitted to Charlie he’d had no idea that impromptu proposal was ever going to get out the ground. Let alone a yes. Charlie, wiping his eyes hastily on the sleeve of his dress robes and tightened his grip. 

“Scamander.” 

“Charlie?”

“You’re the best mate a man could have. You’re one of the best things to ever happen to me.” Charlie locked him in another embrace as the cameras flashed and they dodged an ancient Rita Skeeter. “I wouldn't want to chase dragons with any other man because you have one hell of a heart. I love you, mate.” 

“Likewise.” Rolf patted him on the back. He stopped when Charlie said you had to say it in his family. These three words carried weight. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to do between in different POV. The first was Charlie Weasley, This is Rolf Scamander, and I wanted to explore the relationship between him and Rita Skeeter. 
> 
> Hope you liked it. 
> 
> Thoughts?

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to not write a romance, but just a simple story about friendship. Hope you liked it.


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